A Boy in Old Town
by Eli
Summary: It’s Tribe World Sin City style. When the virus came, kids took over the City, and years later it has all gone to hell. And this is just the beginning.
1. Part One

Title: A Boy in Old Town

Author: Eli

Summary: It's Tribe World Sin City style. When the virus came, kids took over the City, and years later it has all gone to hell. And this is just the beginning.

Note: This is just my start out point. If things go well, I'll add more stories with more of our favorite characters. All the excerpts I used for this story were taken from "The Big Fat Kill". And please be mindful of the Sin City physics.

Disclaimer: I do not own Cloud 9's The Tribe or Frank Miller's Sin City.

He stumbles out of his building, looking around in a way that only guilty men do. He knows what he has coming to him, he'll admit it. No denial he doesn't deserve a blunt object to his head, but also no denial that he isn't looking forward to it. He picks himself up and begins his trek through Sector Three.

As expected, the back alley is dark and ominous. And why wouldn't it be? All of The City was dark and ominous, so why should his street be any different? There's a rattle, a bang, and he's pointing his weapon at a cat. Damn animals. The virus should have wiped them out with the elders.

He moves on, checking behind him with every other step, a perfect picture of paranoia, but it's only for a short time. It's just a little further to Sanctuary, to a safe heaven that'll last as long as the price on his head still stands. He hears footsteps and whips around. Nothing. The bad feeling in his stomach increases. He begins to run, all shadows that could be hiding hit men be damned. Heart on fire, invisible foes on his heels, he runs faster. He can see the familiar towers of Sanctuary. End of the alley and he can taste hope. End of the alley, and

BANG 

Sanctuary fades as he falls, cupping the bullet wound in his neck. His killer hovers over him, grabbing the patch off his sleeve. Tribal identification. Proof that he's hit his mark. Like taking back a severed head, just a lot cleaner. Choking on blood, he watches the killer move up to get his headband as well. He sees bleach blonde hair and the face of a twelve year old. Holy hell, he'd been done in by a kid? So much for his tribe sending him off to the beyond with three cheers. Just a kid, and a pretty boy at that. He tries to move so he can spit blood on him, but just then they come eye to eye and he stops. Those eyes. Twelve year olds shouldn't have those eyes. Who the hell was this kid?

Blood is dripping from his mouth, so his train of thought goes to his life flashing before his eyes. His killer gets up and leaves without so much as a 'thanks'.

As one would have guessed it, he actually isn't twelve, just unfortunate enough to still retain the pre-pubescent look of one who was. And maybe the bleach blonde hair didn't help, but it was what he was use to. No point in changing now. He climbs up multiple fire escapes to get to the top of the building. It was easier to travel rooftop to rooftop, and in this part of town, it was less about being able to jump and more about not looking down. You can expect the occasional big leap, and you know you'll eventually find one jump that is too much for even the most skilled in his profession. He knows it. He expects it. He anticipates it.

He's all about anticipation. To know what is coming up can mean the difference between a bullet in a wall and a nicely ventilated corpse. When he comes upon something he can't predict, he hits the books until he can. It's easier than it sounds and it's kept him alive this long. No need to change. Only a need to know what is going to happen.

This will be the last hit of the night. After this he'll return to the apartment, with its loud noises and envelopes of money being slipped beneath the door. Who knows whose idea it was to re-establish the currency. It may have made trading easier, but it brought back the rich and the poor and a way to reward people for killing others on your behalf. Last hit of the night, and he'll be back before sunrise.

As he jumps from roof to roof, he imagines the girl's crying face and hysterics. He can hear her begging and pleading and her eyes going wide when she realizes that she's not having any effect on him. Then she'll cry harder, and then she'll die. The voice, the tears, all identical to the last time he saw her, after he had put a round of bullets into three guys right in front of her. Loose ends needing to be tied.

He lands on a balcony and peeks in. Bingo. She's sitting up in bed, twisting the ends of her nightgown. Another woman is asleep next to her. He comes in without a sound. She glances up from her bed partner to the window and flinches. He goes to pull out his weapon and she shakes her head. "Not in here, please." She whispers. "Don't need no more witnesses." His hand hovers over the handle of his weapon. She's not stuttering. She's not shaking.

She's not acting like he had imagined.

He watches curiously as she kisses the woman besides her and gets up. She beckons him to follow her into the next room. Unsure of what she is up to, he follows, half expecting an attack, keeping an eye out for potential weapons or others intending to intervene. When the door to the bedroom is shut, she turns to face him. No crying. No pleading. No clue as to what she will do next. He tilts his head and studies her, and her eyes drop to the floor. It doesn't matter that she's been expecting him and his black outfit with the red and the metal, that blonde hair and those eyes; those eyes that still give her nightmares. They make her feel like she'd been judged and has been found wanting. No, none of that. She forces herself to look back up at him. She has to be strong.

He pulls out his weapon and aims it at her. She nods. "Just needed to say good-bye." A second later and her body crumbles to the ground. He takes the necklace from around her throat and leaves out the front door. Silent kill, silent exit, silent victim. It doesn't make sense to him. Where was the sobbing and fits of panic? Nothing like he had expected. He'd seen stronger individuals piss their pants in the same situation. She was weak, soft, pathetic… He doesn't understand.

He begins the trek back to the apartment, resigning himself to no rest. He has work to do, like all the other times he has been wrong. He has to understand, he has to know. The sun is just beginning to rise, and he spends the entire day hitting the proverbial books.

In comic books, characters became stronger after rolling around in toxic waste or being too close to radioactive arachnids. Though entertaining, strength is never that simple. His last victim didn't get a bug bite or a bath in Sector Six. She met a girl, and they began a relationship.

He read about old world housewives who tore up cars to protect their trapped infants. He read about timid stick figures with no backbone find the strength to take down men twice their size. Soldiers going through hell and back because they had a sweetheart at home. This is what happened to his last victim, he was sure of it: Strength born from another.

It seemed as though two wasn't only company, but a power bonus as well.

Night falls, and partly because he wants to get stronger, and partly because hitting a punching bag all day isn't cutting it anymore, and partly because the 'other' side of his hormones, the ones that had been repressed by his former leader, had really started to re-surface, he begins his way towards a place he knows he can test his thesis. One can never be so sure.

He's heard stories about Sector One and the elusive Old Town. The ladies were the law there, beautiful and merciless. If you have the cash and you played by the rules, they'll make all your dreams come true. But if you cross them, you're a corpse. It was a woman's place, no men allowed, at least not without a wad of cash.

Beautiful and merciless. He liked the sound of that. Granted, he's never been attracted to anyone in his entire life. He could be chasing the wrong sex for all he knows. But it was a girl who had given her strength, so why wouldn't it be a girl for him as well?

The streets of Old Town are decorated with women, each one wearing less than the girl in front of her. He keeps his distance and studies the females around him. And although some have slight effects on his libido, none of them are giving him that feeling described in the books. A half hour has passed, and he's still not satisfied with what he sees, and some of the girls are looking at him and laughing. Perhaps it has just been a waste of his time.

He turns to leave when one of the girls comes along side him. "Hey sweets, you've been here an oftly long time without getting some company." She says to him. He turns to study her. She has on a cowboy hat with matching boots and a star pinned onto her top. The bottom half of her hair is a light red, and she has these weird tribe markings in the same red tone. She was decent looking enough, but still he has no real reaction. Giggles can be heard from a group not too far away and begins to walk faster.

The girl besides him rolls her eyes. "Ignore them, they're new. They don't know any better. And neither do you, it seems." She grabs his arm to get him to stop moving. "The first trip is the hardest, especially if you go alone. I've seen plenty like you here." He stops walking and she turns him to face her fully. She smiles. "Boy, aren't you a cute one? I'd almost offer myself if I didn't have an eye for our female clients. Why don't I give you a hand? It hurts our reputation if any decent guy leaves here empty handed." He nods and she begins looking over the other girls.

After directing his attention to four different gals and getting nothing but rejection, she shakes her head. "Well, aren't you picky. Why don't you tell me what you're looking for, that might make things easier." He wants to be a more effective assassin, but he doesn't think that is the answer she wants, so he just shrugs. She begins a rant about needing to know what one likes when he hears the familiar sounds of struggle. Ways off behind her, a guy is attempting to shove a girl into the wall, hands trying to get beneath her clothing. She shrieks.

The girl stops talking and turns around. Her eyes go wide and she becomes giddy. "Oh, this is going to be good." Before he can question her remark, something sharp and metallic comes flying down and hits the guy square in the back. The girl he had trapped against the wall frees herself and takes a couple of steps backwards and looks up.

Following her gaze, he sees a girl on a nearby balcony. She has tan skin, black hair with green highlights, and a sword. She jumps down, landing catlike on the asphalt. The man is groaning and moaning as he tries to remove the sharp object in his back. When he sees the girl, he immediately goes for his weapon. And faster than he can even cock the gun, her sword is unsheathed and he's lost an arm. He screams louder, but the girl is unfazed. She retrieves her throwing star from his back and motions for him to leave, and he runs off.

His eyes take in her image, the blue tribal markings on each side of her face, her shirt with the oriental looking designs, the dark half robe with its long sleeves, the black pants and shoes, her eyes, determined, fearless. He feels something in his chest tighten and turn, and his hormones flare.

Bingo.

"Her. I want her." He tells his companion. She turns back towards him, unsure if she has heard him correctly.

"What'd you say, sweets? I think I misheard you."

"I want her." He says again, pointing to the girl with the sword who was now checking over the girl who had been attacked.

The red colored cowgirl gives a quick look of surprise before wincing. "Oh, sorry kid, I hate to disappoint, but she's not on the market."

"Why not?"

"Because… She's our little angel, she's special." She tells him resolutely, taking a step back. God, this kid is more than a bit creepy. "Besides, didn't you just see what happened? No one can keep up with that." She begins trying to move him away from the scene. "Now, if-"

He grabs her arm and gets in her face. "I want her." He says firmly. She tells him to let go and struggles. He goes to say something, but he can hear something whistling through the air. He pushes the girl from him and moves backwards. A second later he sees that metal throwing star sticking out of the nearby wall. He turns towards the direction it came from, and the girl with the green streaks and the sword is staring at him. Her eyes grow defiant and she raises her sword towards him challengingly. He nods in acceptance.

The streets begin to clear as they come close to each other. They leave a good couple of yards in between them. They begin circling each other slowly, their eyes never leaving the other. He pulls out a gun and cocks it just as she removes her sword from its casing once again. In his head, he sees her sword lunging at him and powerful kicks, he sees having to dodge and reload quickly, and he sees this fight not ending without some blood.

In the real world, she takes the initiative and takes a swing at him.

It begins.


	2. Part Two

He barely has time to dodge to the side before she swings at him again. She's fast, and she's furious, and she has no problem dodging the bullets he fires at her. He shoots off a whole round at her and she's not even breaking a sweat. When the last bullet is fired, she gets closer and swipes at his side. When she misses, she drops to the ground and attempts to kick his legs out from under him. He jumps backwards to avoid it, a quick flip through the air; he lands with his other gun out.

He uses the new distance to his advantage as he shoots at her. She runs toward him at an angle, dodging the projectiles. She jumps and uses the wall diagonal from him as leverage for an aerial attack. She spins and dodges the last of his assault and comes close to connecting with his head. He ducks and quickly dodges again as she tries to land one kick, and then another. He drops to avoid it and she swings down her sword. It connects with the ground where his body use to be. He jumps up and kicks at her form, only to be blocked. He kicks with his back leg and she moves back to dodge it.

He's reloading his gun and she attacks him from the side. He dodges, and she shoulder rushes him, making him lose his balance. He staggers backwards and she swings again. This time, she gets a good slice in his arm. His eyes narrow and now both his guns are cocked and ready. He fires at her and she flips and turns to avoid the onslaught. He sees something come flying out of her hand toward one of the guns. In his head, he sees a blocked barrel and the whole top of the gun flying at his chest. Clever.

In real life, he lets her little toy block the barrel, shooting only the other gun, dropping it when there's no more bullets left. She comes at him, ready to strike, when he flips the gun and fires it backwards. The top of it comes flying off and although she jumps back to avoid it, he sees it graze her neck. Her eyes go dark and he pulls out his last gun. He aims straight out in front of him just as she winds back to attack.

Then, something sharp and leather like slaps across his hands, making him drop his weapon. The thing whips around and curls around the girl's sword. It pulls the sword straight from her hands and has it sailing toward the direction of the whip's handle. They both turn in time to see a woman catch the sword effortlessly just as the whip comes down, making a loud crack as it crashes into the pavement.

The boy moves forward to retrieve his weapon, but she reels her arm back, whip in hand, warningly. "Now, now, don't be rude." She scolds mockingly. The woman motions for the girl with the green streaks to come to her. She obeys and the woman hands her back her sword with a smile and uses her now free hand to push back strands of the girl's loose hair. She's wearing all black leather, with long slits cut into the front of her top and the sides of her pants. The slits reveal fishnet-covered skin. The woman has a dark mark across her eyes and a brilliant red flame on her forehead. Her eyes go back to the boy.

"Now, kid, what is all this racket about? You come here for trouble?" She asks him. He shakes his head. "No? Cause you sure are causing it." She puts down her arm holding the whip. "Well, if you're not here for trouble, then you must have come here for a girl. New customer?" She asks some of the older girls who are making their way towards them, including the girl who was trying to help him earlier, who nods at the question. "Thought so." She looks back to him. "There are rules here, kid, and if you don't play things our way, you're looking at a whole lot of pain. In fact, I should let the girls do you in right now." He hears a dozen or so different weapons come out. She puts her hand out. "But, since you've given our little angel proficient exercise and have given us some good entertainment, I'm willing to let your little temper tantrum slide." She grins. "Now take a good look around. Who do you want?"

He nods toward the girl with the sword. "Her. I want her."

The smile leaves the woman's face. "What?"

"I want her."

She crosses her arms. "She's not for sale. Sorry. Pick again."

"No." He says flatly.

"I don't think your listening hard enough." She says coldly as she saunters over to the girl with the sword and puts her hand on her shoulder. "So I'll repeat myself one more time: My _daughter_ is not for sale." She chucks the girl under the chin. "You can understand that, can't you? "She waves him off. "Now run along, you have a wound to tend to."

"So does she, you know." He says slyly. She looks at him quizzically as the girl with the sword glares at him. He comes toward her and as expected, she takes another swing at him, but he grabs her wrist and twists it around her back. Her sword falls and he hears more than one gun get cocked, but the woman holds out her hand to stop them. She's curious. He reaches over with his free hand and gently grabs her chin, fingers fanning across her cheek. Their bodies are pushed tight together, so close he can feel her heart beat begin to pick up. He takes a deep breath and then forces her head to the side. "See for yourself."

On the side of her neck, she has a patch of burnt skin, discolored from where the backfired gun had hit her. He feels her body tense up and lets go before she can strike him. She retrieves her sword and her eyes bear down on him. Fierce, cold, beautiful, merciless. He holds her gaze, catching her off guard. He sees confusion and anger and surprise and then her breathing changes and he swears he sees her tremble for just half a second.

The woman comes next to her quietly and wraps an arm around her shoulders. "What is it, pet? Is he annoying you? Do you want to take his eyes out?" She asks sweetly. When the girl doesn't give a reply, the woman looks between her daughter, the boy, and back. "Oh dear. Now isn't this interesting?" She says, a bit louder, bringing the girl back from her stupor. She looks at the woman guiltily before bowing her head. The woman just smiles and leans in. "The mothers will have to have a very long talk tomorrow."

She looks back up at the boy. "Okay, kid, you want her? You can get her. But first you have to get something for me. Understand?" He nods. "Good. In Sector Eight, there's a club called Alpha Feline. Someone will be waiting for there for you. If you're good, you'll be back here in no time. If you're not, well, then you better get a good look at our little angel while you still can. Be there, tomorrow night. Got it?"

"Yes."

"Now scram."

He nods and looks toward the girl one last time before quickly making his way out of Old Town. The woman and the girl watch him leave. The girl puts her hand to her neck, her palm just hovering over her wound. This action does not escape her mother, but she says nothing and motions for the girl to take her place back up on the roof.

And that night, they both dream of blood and chaos and of each other. They dream of tangled arms and legs and what it feels like to have your stomach full of butterflies; they dream of what it feels like to be understood. They both see the dark part of themselves echo within the other, right down to the same brown eyes that reflect the years of death and destruction that has consumed both of their lives ever since the virus. The horrible things one does to carry on. Gun or sword, bullets or throwing stars. It all still means death, and the look of it is unnerving. No one else gets it; no one else can stand that gaze.

No one but each other.

By the time he arrives, Alpha Feline is already alive with noise and ruckus. A big oaf of a man stands guard at the door, effortlessly tossing people aside. When he comes to the door, the man stops and looks him over. The boy stands there quiet, unsure of what to do. The man cracks his knuckles and looks about to pounce him, so he begins reaching for his gun. A pink haired girl puts her hand on the man's shoulder and nods at him. He nods back and lets him enter. The pink haired girl, clad in a weird mismatch of fabrics, directs the boy to the dance floor before going back behind the nearby bar and grabbing a few bottles of alcohol. He makes his way through the crowd of heavily moving bodies as music blares out. When he gets to the middle of it all, he notices a woman dancing all by herself, her bleached hair up in Zulu knots. She moves around wildly until another girl pushes her. She stops dancing and shoves the girl back, hard. The girl flies into the nearest wall, and the sound of her body on impact can be heard even with the earsplitting music.

"Bitch." The girl with the Zulu knots mutters. She turns to resume dancing when she spots the boy and glares. She walks straight up to him and grabs his hand. "Let's get this over with, shall we?" She says flatly before dragging him over to the nearest table, pushing him into the seat and slamming his hand down onto the tabletop. She removes the hand she has on his only to replace it with the heel of her boot as she leans back in her seat. She pulls out a strange black cigarette and lights it up. She studies his face and exhales. "God, you really do look like a twelve year old." She shakes her head. "You're not, right?"

"No."

"Then how old are you?"

"Seventeen."

"You sure about that?"

"Yes."

"Good." She smokes for a little bit more before moving on. She removes her boot and leans forward. "Stay still and keep your hand out." She directs him. He does as he is told, keeping his right hand out flat on the table, not even flinching when he sees her pull out a dagger from her belt. She looks him in the eyes and drives the dagger down, straight into the small space between his index and middle fingers. She pulls the dagger out only to drive it back down again, this time hitting the space between his middle and ring fingers. She goes on like this, not once ever looking down at her target.

"I don't know who you are, who you think you are, or if you even know who you're messing with, but I do know this: She is a storehouse of potential. My little protégé shines from the darkest parts of Sector One. And I have put too much time into that girl to have her screwed up by some little creep with a crush."

She pauses to take a drag from the cigarette she's holding with her free hand. The dagger picks up speed with every sentence. Still maneuvering between his fingers, still not looking anywhere but at his face, she continues, blowing the smoke in his face.

"I found her, after the virus had taken the adults and the kids had begun running The City. I watched her shove the broken end of a bottle into someone's stomach before taking his weapon and gunning down his remaining companions. She was eight." She gets a proud half smile to her face. "Eight years old and already magnificent, even if she couldn't talk."

The dagger is moving at an even faster rate. It's getting hard to distinguish the thuds the dagger makes as it hits the tabletop. And she still hasn't looked down.

"So, in conclusion, if you leave this bar alive, you will treat that girl with nothing but the up most respect, or God so help me I will make you the pin cushion for every dagger I own." She glances behind her. "And I'm sure my associate will want to have his way with you as well." She says loudly, but to no avail. The man in question, with the long black hair with feathers stuck in the back, is fast asleep. She rolls her eyes and looks back to the boy. "Hey!" She says sternly, his eyes jumping back to her. "I never said you could look."

Suddenly, the dagger is in his face and he can feel a cut forming on his cheek. Paper cut thin and precise. The woman gives him an odd look. The kid hadn't recoiled or freaked. Hell, he hadn't even blinked.

"Is there anything else?" He asked quietly.

She leaned back in her seat, flicking her cigarette onto the dance floor before using her dagger to clean her nails. "I'm still not impressed you know." She says with a shrug. "But in the end, I got out numbered, so it doesn't matter what I think. Here." She takes out a gold necklace and puts it into his hand. "Take it straight there, but you should know, the only reason you're not a corpse in the ground is because that little girl who can't speak for herself wants to be a woman now. You can understand my concern." He nods. "Good. Go, don't keep her waiting."

He exits the way he came, getting a look of shock from the bodyguard as he leaves. He looks down at the necklace. Just a plain gold chain with some name written in some flowery cursive font. He runs his thumb over it, having a good idea who trinket belonged to. And as he makes his way back to Old Town, he begins to wonder if this is all worth it. He thinks back to the night before and those eyes and all the carnage that went with them…

Yes, this was definitely going to be worth the trouble.


	3. Part Three

They seemed to have been expecting him when he got to Old Town. The girl who had tried to help him the night before met him at the entrance led him straight into one of the buildings. They went up a few floors and down a hallway. At the end of the hallway were a set of double doors and the woman from the night before. She puts her hand out and he places the necklace into it. She gives him a once over and shakes her head.

"Kid, you must have been touched by an angel." She tells him before knocking on the doors. One of them open slightly, and a girl with blonde and brown hair peeks her head out. He recognizes her as the girl who was attacked the night before. "Is she ready?" The woman asks. The girl nods and she sighs. "Then it's time."

The girl nods again and goes back inside for a moment. Then she slips out of the room, dressed in zebra print and fishnets. She gives him a weird look as she leaves, chuckling in the back of his throat. The woman looks at him and waves toward the doors. "She's in there."

The boy nods and slowly makes his way in front of the doors. He pauses for a moment, takes a deep breath, and enters, both doors shutting closed behind him, locked.

The girl is standing in front of changing screen, wearing a longer version of the black robe she had on over her shirt the night before. Her head is down and her eyes are darting from the floor to the bed a few feet away from her and back. She holds her sword in her hand, blade pointed up. He takes a few steps forward before she looks at him. He stops walking. She holds her sword out in front of her, gripping it by the middle, and does a sort of bow before placing it in front of her feet. She stands up straight again, and her eyes fall on his guns. He gets the message and begins to disarm himself, removing both weapons and holsters. He places them down on the ground and nods at her, hoping she's satisfied.

He walks towards her again, and she diverts her eyes to the side. He stops and watches her, seeing how her hands are clenched together at her sides, hearing how her breath is beginning to come in ragged. He'd be smug about his effect on her if he wasn't in such a state himself. She doesn't move, so he doesn't either. He tries not to shift as he waits for her to say something to him. He's realized he actually hasn't heard her say anything, and then he remembers the woman in the club saying something about how she couldn't speak. He thinks back to her behavior the night before and comes to the conclusion that it must be true.

As he watches her, he feels something in his chest twist, and suddenly, he can't stand having her like this, all awkward and embarrassed. He feels the need to calm her down, and he knows he must before anything can happen. They have to connect, or else this whole process was for nothing.

"Hey." He says quietly and she looks up at him. His mind rushes for a minute, and he is unsure how to continue. There is a weird silence of them just looking at each other before he summons up something that might put her at ease. "I had to get a necklace to get here." He tells her. "This gold necklace. It had a name on it. Cloe. Is that your name? Cloe?" He asks her.

The girl nods in reply. She then tilts her head and looks at him questionably. It takes him a second to realize what she's asking. "Ved." He tells her. "My name is Ved." She nods. They both feel more relieved and they look at each other, and half smile to themselves.

"Cloe." He says. He motions for her to come toward him. She steps over her sword and doesn't stop until she's less than a foot away from him. He looks her in the eye before letting his eyes trail down her body, still wrapped tightly in that robe. His eyes fall on the knot in the front keeping it together. He moves his hand from his side and begins to pull on the end of the knot. It slowly begins to unravel and he uses his finger to undo the tie in it, and her robe falls open, revealing her body clad only in lingerie that has the same oriental print as her shirt. He begins breathing hard and his clothes are too tight. He grabs the open ends of her robe and pulls her forward so that they're flush together. He stares into her face, and in his head he can see flashes of skin and motion. In the real world, their lips brush together and they both shudder. This is it; this is the feeling, and to hell to everything if it ever goes away.

They kiss again, and again, and again. She wraps both her arms around his neck and he puts his hands on her waist, feeling her skin, both getting used to the idea of holding back, to be placid. His hands travel to her back, and he feels the familiar texture of old scars. He remembers the wound he gave her and begins kissing the spot on her neck lightly, sorry that he had ever hurt her. She winces, and he can't tell if it's good or bad until he feels her unzip his shirt. He shoves her robe off her before letting his shirt fall to the ground. He pulls her closer and kisses her hard. His skin comes alive under her fingers, twitching and moving. She traces the scar tissue surrounding the tattoo on his shoulder, all that's left over from his previous tribe. He tugs at the back of her bra, not knowing how to get it off. He feels her lips twist into a smile and gets it off before he knows it.

Blood pulsing, his hands fall back down to her waist and push her hips forward. She gasps and moves her leg upward slightly, like she's seen the other girls do. His hand slides down and jacks her leg up to his waist, and she understands why. And what started as mimicry turns into striving to fulfill this new feeling they have in the pit of their stomachs and lower.

They're sitting on the edge of the bed, her in his lap, and they taste skin, scars, and the soft places that slowly come to life. They grind their hips together. Her underwear is so thin, and his pants are so rough. It's so sweet, but soon it's not enough, and their clothes are tossed aside, and he's on top of her. Her hymen breaks, and they stop and look at each other, both suddenly unsure of what to do. Beginners, amateurs. It's quickly becoming weird and uncomfortable, but neither of them want that. He looks down into her eyes, trying to reassure himself that it's okay. He barely comprehends the look she gives him, so confused and hurt and excited and wanting. This had to happen eventually. He moves his hand to her face and touches her cheek lightly before bowing his head and kissing her.

And when they begin again, he knows that this has gone way beyond simply becoming stronger. Because he can't stop touching her, and if he couldn't touch her, he would die. And if anyone else tried to touch her, they would die, because he would rip them to shreds. He would destroy them beyond all recognition, because the thought of it made something in his chest burn and ache. Years of numbness from training were all falling away, and the results were terrifying, but it spurned him on. It was absolute, it was binding. They would be together.

And things were going to change.

When he wakes up, she is already sitting up in bed, staring at the double doors. He lifts his hand to trace her spine, but she jilts forward. She turns to look at him and motions to the door with her head. He sits still, and he can hear bits and pieces of conversation.

"Don't wake her up, not now."

"Well, Ebony, we need to tell her sometime, before she sees-"

"I know, Amber, I know."

"What do you want us to do with the body?"

He sees Cloe's eyes go wide as she gets out of bed, throwing on her robe before exiting. He follows, trying to move and pull on his pants at the same time. He watches as she stops dead in her tracks, and when he moves forward he understands why. There's a white sheet covering someone's dead body. Her mother and the woman he met in the club are both present, as well as the red haired girl, who was now biting her lip. The woman in leather turned to her. "May, we'll deal with it later. Go begin telling the other girls what has happened and go find out whose missing." May nods and leaves.

Cloe grabs the white sheet and begins to pull it down, ignoring her mother telling her to stop. The face of the girl with blonde and brown hair slowly appears, mouth gaping open, eyes wide, ugly bruises on her neck. Cloe stops pulling and covers her mouth, horrified. Her Mother comes to stand next to her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. She turns to look at her, angry and inquisitive. Ebony can only shake her head. "We don't know, we just found her this morning." She says quietly. "But we will."

He watches as Cloe motions toward herself, and then at the dead body. Ebony shakes her head. "No, it's not. Don't say that."

Amber nods. "She's right. This wasn't an outside attack. We stood watch all night. If we couldn't prevent it, you couldn't either." Cloe clings to her mother, still staring at the body, shaking her head. Her eyes go dark, but she doesn't cry. She takes the whip from Ebony's side and presents it to her, head bowed.

"No, darling, no. It's not your fault." She insists. "Cloe, I said no."

Cloe just looks at her defiantly before offering the whip to Amber. "No, the mothers agree, we're not blaming you." She tells her, her eyes briefly flashing to Ved, glaring. Cloe backs away from the both of them, angry and frustrated. She looks at the dead body and drops to her knees. Both women move forward, but she strikes out at them with the whip. They all watch in horror as she lowers the back of her robe and begins to hit herself. Slow, strong movements, she breathes heavy and bites down, and the marks add up and add up.

And then Ved can't stand it anymore and attempts to take the whip away from her, grabbing her arms. She throws him to his back and straddles him. She wraps the whip around his neck tight, and poises herself to choke him, but as she stares down at him, her eyes go sad and soft. She breathes hard, but doesn't hurt him, can't hurt him. Ebony comes over and slowly makes her rise. She ushers her into another room. Ved stands and tries to follow, but Amber stops him.

"Don't, you'll just make things worst. That's her best friend lying there. Make yourself useful and find her killer. Go." She directs him. "I have a child to tend to." She says bitterly as she enters the other room, shutting the door tightly behind her.

It doesn't take long to figure out which girl is missing. May gives him a description, a name, and a request to rip the girl's throat out. He nods and begins a trek though the city. Considering how much trouble she's in, the girl is surprisingly easy to find, hiding in the outskirts of Loco territory, male dominated land. Her struggles are fruitless as he drags her back to Old Town by her hair. The other girls crowd and spit at her. They watch happily as Ved takes her to the roof where Ebony and Cloe wait. He throws her before them, chunks of her hair getting ripped out. Ebony holds back Cloe before she kneels down to the girl's level.

"Ruby." She says quietly, no anger in her voice. The girl looks up. "She's dead, Ruby. Patsy's dead." The girl cries harder and shrinks back. "I know, I know. You're sorry, you didn't mean it. It's okay, really it's okay," She says softly. "But please, Ruby, just tell me why. Why did you do this? It will make you feel better. Please, tell boss why." Ruby nods and leans forward, whispering something into her ear. Ebony rubs her shoulder consolingly and nods. "Okay." She says quietly, and then bites down on Ruby's neck, taking a chunk of skin out of her throat. Ruby screams and Ebony stands up, mouth covered in blood. She spits the meat out in disgust and walks back towards Cloe. She puts a hand on her shoulder. "All yours, darling."

Cloe goes over and forces Ruby to stay up on her knees, tilting her head up to look her in the eye. She backs up and removes her sword from the sheath. She crosses her arm over her shoulder, twists for momentum, and then strikes. The girl's head falls back slightly, only half cut off. Blood splatters everywhere, a line of it now adorning Cloe's face. The body falls over completely and Cloe backs away to head back to her post.

Ved feels her grim satisfaction, and when she passes him, reaches out for her. But she moves from his grasp and stares at him coldly from over her shoulder. He hears her flip part of her blade up from the sheath, a warning, an apology. Her eyes are filled with the tears she's forgotten how to shed. Things are different, but must remain the same. There will be no more death in Old Town, not if she can help it. And no amount of butterflies and burning will make her go back to that place. She'll never turn her back on Old Town again. She can never forgive herself.

She turns back toward the streets and takes her position on the edge of the roof.

And finally, he sees the penalty for his actions. That the same thing that can makes you stronger can destroy you more completely than the sharpest sword. A soft spot, an Achilles heel. He hurts deeper than he's ever known, but he can't stand the thought of moving away form her. How couldn't he have seen this coming? How is this going to end?

Ebony comes to stand beside him with a look he can't place as any specific emotion. "She's quite determined, you know. She's always been very stubborn." She says quietly, watching as her daughter scans the streets for potential problems. "I have a feeling you won't leave, and that is going to make things very complicated. And knowing her like I do, you could be waiting up on this roof for a long, long time, kiddo. So." She puts a hand on his shoulder and smiles. "Why don't you listen to my proposition?"

Old Town. Beautiful and merciless, and more protected than ever before. No matter what the attack, the girls defend their turf until all that is left is a nice collection of blood and bones littering the streets. And, rumor has it, the last time there was trouble, some blonde boy took care of it. Looked just like a twelve year old. But the witnesses are all dead, and those are just rumors.

And on some back alley in Old Town, a blonde boy with brown eyes disposes of another would be attacker. He wipes the sweat from his brow and looks up, and he knows she's watching. Their eyes meet, and the tight thing happens in their chests. It won't always be like this. He knows it's not over, and he knows things have changed and will change even more before it's over. Things will start happening in this city of sin, a city run by orphans of a virus. In fact, it has already begun.

Because there is a boy in Old Town.

And he's not leaving.

The End


End file.
